


suffer a sea-change

by pineovercoat



Category: Kingdom Hearts
Genre: Alternate Universe - Old Kingdom Fusion, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, Cryptic Lore Dumping, Gen, Prompt Fill, Temporary Character Death, does the walker choose the road to dawn or does the road to dawn choose the-, soriku if u squint as always, this scene would be the beginning of his redemption arc in the sprawling AU i won’t write
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-12
Updated: 2020-03-12
Packaged: 2021-02-28 18:02:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,996
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23111407
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pineovercoat/pseuds/pineovercoat
Summary: Beyond the Eighth Gate, the stars were infinite.
Comments: 6
Kudos: 15





	suffer a sea-change

**Author's Note:**

> this week on throwing the rules of various canons into a blender with my own self indulgence... riku, hanging out in the metaphysical concept of death yet again!! but now in non-canon crossover flavor! welcome to the niche corner? 😅 
> 
> melodramatic riku voice, i missed you buddy

Beyond the Eighth Gate, the stars were infinite.

Riku could feel his body in Life, distantly, his arm still swinging the bell he’d chosen, its arc violent and unthinking, careless of technique in favor of simple sound. That didn’t really matter, though. A single toll was enough. It was why he was here at all, on the precipice of the final gate, at the end of all things.

There, in Life, he was alone, conducting a funeral march amidst a sea of enemies, even as the mournful peal of Astarael filled him, saturating him through skin, through bone, all the way to the spirit. His senses were flooded with the dirge, overwhelmed, confused by a sound too great and terrible to comprehend. All around him, Dead creatures were shucking their bodies, Shadow Hands were being cast back, howling their rage as they were pulled deep into the Death they so defied, and the necromancer- she was finally gone.

Here, in Death- his heart understood, and like bell metal itself, echoed the song.

Love. Fidelity.

Death.

He’d been so afraid at the end, but it had not been for himself. Sora, and Kairi, too- would they flee fast enough to outrun the siren song of Astarael, who called all who heard her deep into her embrace? Or had he doomed them as well, when all he’d wanted was to do one thing right at the end, to save them? They weren’t here, so maybe there was a chance. Would they be able to make peace from all the destruction he’d wrought? He imagined- he hoped fervently- that they would be fine without him. That was the nature of life, after all- it went on. They were not his cares to worry about anymore, no matter how they weighed on him. He’d given up the privilege long ago.

How strange- here, in the Ninth Precinct, all of that should have been gone. It wasn’t. There was so _much_. Remorse. Regret. And again, love- so much love. Behind him, eight gates and a short push past the partition between life and death, there was- there was--

There was nothing for him. Not anymore.

So why did he remain?

The sky above shone with endless, unfamiliar constellations, a black velvet night scattered with innumerable universes. He could draw patterns in them for the rest of eternity and never tire of their light or the possibilities within. All around him, spirits rose, welcomed to their final rest, to peace, no matter what they’d done in life- or in death. What would it be like, to have the sky for a grave?

He watched with a heavy, dark feeling in his heart. He wanted to join them, to rise for once rather than fall, but an anchor held him in the still waters. Or maybe it was just that he was made of the same stuff now as the stars above- two poles that could never touch.

“Why?” he demanded, and the word dropped from his lips like a physical thing, hitting the surface of the shallow, glassy water, sending ripples out as far as he could see. Hadn’t he done enough? Or was that exactly it- was this the punishment for his transgressions? Doomed to wander forever between two worlds, wanted by neither? How long could he bear it? Would he one day become desperate enough to desecrate his own dying act and return to life as one of the Greater Dead, continuing the cycle he’d begun when he’d taken on the seven bells of a necromancer, inevitable--

Ribbons of steam swirled around his ankles, carrying with them the smell of hot metal, reminding him of what his arrogance had cost him.

He should never have crossed the Wall. He should never have wondered what lay beyond it, and been content to live out his days as that bright boy from the coast, going to university at Sunbere and immersing himself in a world of radios and cars and telegrams, working small magic only when a wind blew in from the North, and thinking himself no more deserving of power or greatness or adventure than any other man.

Of course, none of those too-late dreams accounted for what was in his heart.

Riku’s arm hung by his side, at rest, and still he could feel it swinging.

Swallowing hard, he raised his hands to the sky, reaching. _Please_ , he thought, ashamed that he was already reduced to begging. The stars did not reach back _._ Stung, he blinked away tears. Those rose up too, into the infinite, where all souls met their end. Where he was not allowed to go.

Well, he told himself bitterly, he’d always wanted to be special.

“Why?” he repeated.

_It is not yet done, brother,_ a distant, sorrowful voice lamented. _It is not yet done._

“Why not?” someone answered.

Was that-- a voice? Another human voice, here? Riku turned from the sky, and as he did, the yawning emptiness within him lessened a little.

There was a woman with him, not ten yards away. How he didn’t notice her before, he had no idea. Maybe in all the sound, he’d missed her coming. Or maybe she’d been here all along…

She was deathly pale, this stranger, and the white dress she wore only made her more of a ghost. A set of panpipes hung from her neck by a thin leather cord- seven pipes. To match the seven bells, he could only assume. Was she a necromancer, too? She carried no other weapons. None that he could see, anyway. Cupped in her hands, there was only an odd, flat pane of glass, so dark as to be completely black, like all light ceased to exist within its borders. But she was not looking at it- her eyes were fixed heavenward, leaving her long fair hair to spill down her back, and her Charter mark to shine in the starlight. She was powerful, whoever she was. He could sense it, her presence in the Charter in direct opposition to his.

“Why not,” she repeated, her voice as musical as Ranna’s. And then, “How curious. It is not my time, either.”

Her time? Riku’s thoughts lumbered, clumsy, dragging against a current. If she was not dead and still walked here, then what did that mean for him? The minutes stretched, floating strangely, like the hem of her white dress on the silken water.

At last, she tore her gaze away from the stars. Something about her struck him- it was something in the eyes, maybe, that made him feel like he could trust her. He felt he should know her, but he was sure he didn’t.

“I am glad you did not go,” she said, and smiled at him.

“Don’t think I had a choice,” he answered stiffly, then clamped his mouth shut. She might look harmless, even familiar, but the river was full of hidden dangers and deceptions. He knew that well. The Final Precinct was no exception. The mark on her forehead might even be fake, though in his heart he could sense that it was real and uncorrupted, if only for the way it needled at him.

“Don’t worry,” she laughed, cradling the dark thing in her hands to her chest. A looking glass, he realized, though it reflected nothing. How strange.

“You are safe here, for now,” she went on. “Your body endures. You have a strong will, Riku.”

He reared back in shock, and as he did, her eyes roved to his forehead.

Shame flooded him. He squashed down the urge to flatten his hair over his forehead- it was useless to try and hide what he’d become. A broken Charter mark was more than any superficial scar- it was a wound on the very soul. He was certain the Free magic emanating from him was as obvious as gore over snow. If the scorched metal stench, the roiling miasma of fire and blood, the rising steam that rolled thick as fog around his legs even in this shallow water- if that was even a _fraction_ as evident to her as it was to him, then-

Then there was no sense in trying to hide what was obvious, especially to a Charter Mage as powerful as the one before him. Besides, it hardly mattered now, no matter what lies she spoke. His body, enduring in life- there was simply no way.

Perhaps she’d be kind enough to break this holding pattern, to put an end to him at last. Though, Riku realized, now that he had hope that the heartbeat hammering in his chest was real, now that the phantom sensation of his swinging arm in Life could be true-- he didn’t want to die the final death. Not really. Not anymore. Not before he made things right.

He had to make things right.

“Riku of Ancelstierre,” she said, regarding him.

Riku swallowed. He tried to wet his lips, and found his mouth dry and useless. _How do you know me_?, he wanted to ask, but his mouth would not obey.

“I am called Naminé.” She stepped forward. “Do you know what I am?”

“No,” he forced himself to say. It cost him the last of his pride to admit it, and his voice sounded even hoarser than it’d felt in his throat. He winced at the sound. Foolish- he’d been such a child, playing at sword fights and grand adventures, hoping to control death and darkness alike. So he’d had a Charter mark, like everyone else in their northern village- but what did he really know of magic? Of the Old Kingdom? Of light or life, to so defy it?

She inclined her head, almost as if she’d heard his unspoken words. Her pale blonde hair shifted as she moved.

“My sisters, my cousins- they have the Sight,” she explained, her voice warm, her blue eyes cold. “You know what that is, yes?”

Sora’s father had spoken of it, on occasion- tales of great power and fantastical monsters and golden fire, just on the other side of the Wall. All the things Kairi couldn’t remember. It hurt to think of that now. The village by the lighthouse, the stories that once bound him up in wonder, the voice that wove them- all gone.

Slowly, Riku nodded.

“Would you like to know, Riku?” She raised her chin. There was a hardiness in it that struck him, unexpected from someone as fragile-looking as she was. “What it is that the Clayr have Seen for you?”

He swallowed, balling his hands into fists. If endless wandering _wasn't_ his destiny... but what if it was? Was there power in knowing, or would it drive him mad? It was more than any other soul got. But thinking he'd deserved more and better- wasn't that what had gotten him here? He shook his head, decided. He was no more deserving than any other man- especially of a future.

“No.” He bowed his head, his eyes falling to the starry river. In its reflection, he saw her nod. He couldn’t be sure of her expression, but it felt like he’d passed some unspoken test.

“As you say.”

He lifted his eyes just in time to see her spread her fingers over the surface of the mirror she held.

“Your friends,” she murmured, her eyes beginning to cloud.

“ _No_!” he cried out. “I said I didn’t--” Their future wasn’t his, either. They deserved to hold on to some part of their own lives, something he couldn’t ruin. The stab of fear came again- what if there was no future- what if it hadn’t been enough--

“And I said I would not,” she interrupted. Her voice was gentle, as was the pity in it. It was not the blow Riku thought it might be, though his eyes grew hot nonetheless.

“I only mean to tell you they are alright,” she said. “But after you bid them flee, they were separated from each other.” She looked down at the mirror, frowning. “The rest has not yet come to pass, so I cannot know it. I am sorry.”

_Alright_ \- he breathed a sigh- they were alright. Apart, but! His heart soared, though he did his best to keep his face neutral. He must have failed, because she was smiling again, faint, but true. She held the mirror to her chest again, and it clicked faintly against the panpipes. Behind her, another spirit rose into the sky, and the sum total of his situation began to click into place. On the threshold of the Ninth Gate, unarmed, in the presence of a Seer with some approximation of the bells.

“You knew I’d be here,” Riku guessed, watching her for any sign of a lie. “How?”

“I didn’t.”

He narrowed his eyes. “I don’t believe that.”

She sighed. “There are as many futures as there are choices in a lifetime, and their path unfolds even now. But there is only one past.” She ducked her head, and her hair spilled over her face as she murmured. “You are fortunate, Riku. She has given you the chance to learn from it.” Something- a tear- spilled down her cheek. It caught in the air, then fell upwards.

_She_? Riku wondered, his brow furrowing. He tracked that glimmer back up into the endless expanse, and as he looked into it again, thought he was beginning to understand.

“Better not waste it, then,” he said slowly.

The girl- Naminé- nodded. “One door closes. Another opens.” She gestured to the Eighth Gate behind them. “And what has been lost may yet be found.”

Riku turned, and his eyes went wide. It hadn’t even occurred to him to retrace the path that took him here, swept up by the river.

“Can I-” He cleared his throat. “I can _do_ that?”

Naminé nodded. “Every step we take is forward.

“But sometimes,” she added wryly, floating over to his side with a preternatural grace, “we walk in the wrong direction.”

Riku shook his head. All that time wasted feeling sorry for himself when he could have just turned around and left. And wasn’t that the story of the past year? Embarrassed, he scrubbed at his face. The tears were long gone, but the motion covered for the moment he needed to center himself and face the gate. The way back...

Looking sidelong, he addressed his companion. “What… what will... will you be alright?”

“There is something I must do, but don’t worry. I’ll be fine.” She touched a hand to the panpipes, and he caught a glimpse of a short, blooded dagger tucked into the folds of her white sleeves. His brows lifted.

Yes, evidently she would.

“I hope we meet again, on the other side.”

“Yeah,” he replied, and was surprised to find he really meant it. “Me too.”

“Take this.” She pressed a small metal object into his free hand. “A gift. From the Great Library. The Clayr rely on them when they are in great danger. When you are in need, call upon it. I think it will serve you well.”

“Right,” said Riku, flexing his fingers around it. It was a mouse- a little clockwork mouse, cool to the touch, and nothing more. But somehow he felt better just holding the silly little thing. A smile crept its way across his face. What a strange world he’d wandered into, the day he left home.

Home. Time to take the long way back. The next time he set foot here, he knew it would be at the end. The true end.

Beside him, Naminé gestured again to the gate. “The sun is rising where you are,” she announced. “There is work to do. Can you feel it? Do you hear it?”

_Riku!_

“Yes,” he said, full of the wonder he thought he’d lost. The warmth reached him even through the chill of Death. “I do.”

“Go,” she commanded, and reached up to press closed lips to the shattered mark on his forehead.

Pivoting, he began to walk, and as he went she whispered a strange farewell to him, nearly drowned out by the endless toll of a bell.

In Life, Riku sucked a breath into cold lungs. Frost encased his body, but it was rapidly melting, cracking where his wrist still swung. Astarael’s low, mournful dirge rang in his ears. Dumbfounded, he reached out and stilled the clapper. The sound dampened, then died, and he was left there in its wake, alone and miraculously alive.

He shook out his hair, just for the feeling of it, the icy sting of its grown-out, feathering ends against his skin. It fell into his eyes, silvered like the ice that hung from his nose, his chin, his fingertips. Astonished, he reached out to touch it. It had truly gone white, like an old man’s.

If that was what it cost, he thought. Such a small price to pay to know the tune of the Seventh’s song. He could never forget the sound now that he’d heard it- a unique burden to carry amongst those who walked in life. But it was muted now, overridden by a more insistent call.

His heartbeat quickened. In that moment, the pull of its command was stronger than any of the seven bells. Stronger even than the current of death.

He took one step forward, matching his pace to the rhythm, and then, he took another. Silently he added them to the many he’d taken through the river, where the current had been so easy against his ankles, nothing more than a stream born of a lazy summer rainfall. As he marched, the echo of Naminé’s parting words sang counterpoint in his ear.

They were good words, he thought, lifting his eyes to meet the sun as it rose over a pale gold morning. If he kept going forward, one day he might even discover what they meant.

_Does the walker choose the path, or the path, the walker?_

**Author's Note:**

> well i had to funnel the way the final world at night made me feel into _something_ lol. i loved the universe of these books so dearly as a kid, and keys are so prominent in the imagery...


End file.
